I wrote these on another forum, but thought I may as well post them here too. Here are a couple of scenes from Licence to Kill that I could have imagined Fleming writing -
`Bond grabbed the stiff gear lever and rammed it into third. The wall of cars lined up on the looming horizon was drawing ever closer. He could just make out several figures now outside the vehicles, weapons drawn and aiming towards Bond's hurtling lorry. And then Bond saw the larger object, protruding menacingly from one of the men's shoulders. Christ Almighty! It looked like some kind of missile rocket launcher. There would be a matter of seconds before it was released and sent speeding towards Bond's windscreen. There would be no way of avoiding it. The road was just too narrow.
And then he had an idea. Where had he read about it? In one of the American truck magazines, a stunt which had been performed before a televised audience. It had driven up on a ramp from an angle, and then managed to keep travelling on just the wheels of one side of the truck. Yes, there may be just enough momentum with the raised jagged rocks on the right side of the road. The bank of rocks were perhaps slightly too high, but that couldn't be helped.
Bond fiercely pulled the steering wheel round to the right and stamped his foot down on the accelarater, his face contorted into a snarl. Bond braced himself for impact. The cockpit shook violently as the right wheel of the truck rolled heavily up onto the embankment. There was a mighty roar of protest from the engine as Bond's world suddenly turned on its side. A cloud of dust and rock particles gathered around the windscreen like thick fog. The fading view of the road was now at a different angle, and Bond tried to readjust his perspective through the dusty mist. The wheel in his hand suddenly began to wriggle erratically like a wild animal, as though it had a mind of its own, and Bond was struggling to keep it in a fixed position. Bloody hell, the sweat from his palms was causing the wheel to slip through his fingers. Keep control, dammit!! Keep control! Steady! '
etc...
`Bloodied and bruised, his suit now hanging from him in filthy tatters, Bond crawled across the ground like a wounded animal, gasping for air. He suddenly felt the cold steel across his face and tried to look up. It hurt like hell to glare into the blazing sun, but Bond knew this was it. The game was up! Sanchez finally had him. If only he could somehow distract Sanchez, buy himself some valuable seconds before the steel blade was raised and brought swiftly down to Bond's offered neck. Bond closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable searing pain, the blinding flash that would finally condemn his fate.
But then he suddenly felt Sanchez hesitate. Why? Bond again tried to look up. Christ, his head hurt. But this time he could just about see the details in the dark sillhouetted figure, backlit by the sun. Why had he stopped? Maybe there was still time. Bond suddenly remembered the lighter in his pocket. He then collapsed back against a rock and groaned, overplaying his injuries, but only slightly. He was still in a desperate weakened state, but anything to give him a slight edge, lure the other man into a sense of over-confidence in Bond's damaged appearance.
And then Sanchez spoke. It was odd to hear the voice in the desert after all this time. `You could have had it all!' Sanchez grabbed Bond by the collar and pulled him to his feet. Again, Bond feigned his languid posture, rolling his head from side-to-side and allowing another groan to pass from his lips. Bond's right hand was now inside his trouser pocket. He could feel the cold metal of the lighter. Bond stiffened, then looked Sanchez straight in the eye. He was pleased to see Sanchez had a few injuries of his own. Blood was streaked down the left side of the dark, grubby face.
`Don't you want to know why?' Bond managed to say, in a strangled voice.
Puzzled, Sanchez faltered. He then looked down curiously at Bond's hand reaching for his pocket and pulling out the lighter. The couple of valuable, precious seconds had the desired effect. Bond casually turned the lighter round in his hand, the engraved lettering now offered to Sanchez to read. Before Sanchez could react, Bond had flicked the hammer back. The flame shot directly upwards and Bond had only a split-second to jump back. There was a ghastly scream and a rancid smell of fumes and burning flesh as the figure staggered backwards, dancing in the inferno of flames.
Bond quickly twisted and half-ran, half-crawled away from the sickening scene. He only had a few moments before the screaming figure became engulfed and transformed into a huge ball of fire....'
Etc.